


GUY.exe

by LuiGarMir



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Background Richard Gansey III, Book 2: The Dream Thieves, Joseph Kavinsky's Death, M/M, One-Sided Joseph Kavinsky/Ronan Lynch, POV Joseph Kavinsky, Ronan Lynch Loves Adam Parrish, Song Lyrics, Songfic, The Dream Thieves Spoilers, Unrequited Crush, background gangsey, guy.exe, superfruit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21655417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuiGarMir/pseuds/LuiGarMir
Summary: Kavinsky tried to convince Ronan to leave Gansey and stay with him. Ronan refused."Wait. You thought — it was never gonna be you and me. Is that what you thought?"
Relationships: Joseph Kavinsky/Ronan Lynch
Kudos: 29





	GUY.exe

**Author's Note:**

> A retelling of "The Dream Thieves" by Maggie Stiefvater that follows Joseph Kavinsky.   
> This is a song fic based on Superfruit's "GUY.exe"
> 
> You probably have to read TDT before you read this fic...

_Wish I could synthesize_

_A picture perfect guy_

_Oh I, oh I_

* * *

_Where all the boys at with emotional stability?_

_Nice car, a CEO, and almost just as smart as me_

_Where all the boys at with financial security?_

_A doctor, a model, a man of possibilities_

Kavinsky walked down the halls of Aglionby. He was surrounded by faces he knew; and yet, he didn´t know them at all.

The only thing Kavinsky knew about them was that they all were daddy’s golden boys. Their potential misspent as soon as money presented an easier way out of life’s shenanigans.

They were just pathetic rich boys, who didn’t deserve a second glance.

Except Parrish, maybe. He didn’t really belong in that category -but Parrish was just a sad example of what the unfairness that comes with poverty did to people.

An empty stomach, heavy eyelids and broken dreams –Kavinsky didn’t need the emotional toll.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get involved, it was that he didn’t _care_ about other people’s problems. Or life, really.

The only thing grounding Kavinsky were his dreams. _His dreams_ and the potential _he_ had.

_They say, expectations are too high_

_And you’ll never find a guy like that_

_It’s driving you mad, honey_

Replacing real Prokopenko with his dream hadn’t been difficult. His dream was almost the same as the original one –handsome, despite his large ears, wild and loyal to a fault.

They did everything together –car races, substance parties, the scarce moments when they would just lie together waiting for the drugs to have effect. He had been dreamt to satisfy Kavinsky’s needs.

Anyway, Prokopenko hadn’t been that smart nor destined for greatness in life –might as well make good use of him after it.

Well, maybe his dream was _actually_ better than what Prokopenko had been.

_They say that it’s just a waste of time_

_Get your head out of the sky_

_But why?_

_Here we go_

Kavinsky pulled up his car beside the ridiculous Camaro that Dick insisted on driving.

But Dick wasn’t his target audience; right there, beside him, was Ronan Lynch. Ronan, a connoisseur of street battles, noticed him first.

Kavinsky greeted him with an outstretched hand, middle finger extended. His white Mitsubishi shot forward and then fell back, then shot forward again.

His Mitsubishi Evo was a thing of boyish beauty, moon-white with a voracious black mouth of a grill and an immense splattered graphic of a knife on either side of the body –above any other of his creations, he was proud of this car.

He had just put three coats of anti-laser paint on the headlights and bought himself a new radar detector. When you were rich –and a dreamer –, you could give yourself such treats.

Kavinsky knew Gansey and his loyal dogs hated him –at least they should –but he wasn’t so sure about Ronan.

It was impossible to know with Ronan.

There was an edge to his whole persona that intrigued Kavinsky.

It was impossible that Ronan’s reckless and violent nature could fit with charismatic Gansey, who was Aglionby´s _king_.

He wore a lazy smile. Gansey and Ronan frowned. He mouthed something to Gansey that ended with “— unt.”

There was nothing about Richard Campbell Gansey III that wasn’t despicable.

_Oh I, wish I could synthesize_

_A picture perfect guy_

_Oh I, oh I_

Prokopenko wasn’t as interesting as he first thought.

Kavinsky’s mind was full of wonders –that much he knew -, but somehow that was not transmitted in Prokopenko.

The boy would agree to anything Kavinsky said. He lacked that flare that caused his insides to burn.

He wasn’t dangerous; he just mimicked Kavinsky’s actions. And he wasn’t confrontational.

At least not with Kavinsky.

Oh, how much he _wanted_ him to be hostile; he _needed_ it.

He wanted Prokopenko to be someone he wasn’t –someone he never was and would never be. He had lost all appeal.

Suddenly his dream was nothing more than a nightmare.

It wasn’t as if he could get rid of Prokopenko, and the boy was pretty much immortal for as long as Kavinsky was there. 

_Six feet tall and super strong_

_We’d always get along_

_Alright, alright_

Joseph Kavinsky was completely unlike the valley faces he could see around Nino´s. While there were a lot of Aglionby students, they all had pretty similar facial features –tall, slim, tanned, and fine-boned faces.

Kavinsky was clearly an import from elsewhere.

“Hey, baby doll,” he greeted the waitress. Despite being short, she had quite the personality.

She reminded him of Ronan. Hot-tempered and sarcastic.

She was also a thing of wonder. However, he was not interested in her.

“I am not a baby doll,” Blue said icily, “Table for one?”

“My party’s already here.” He was there to deliver a gift, and he would be gone as soon as he had arrived.

He found Ronan, Adam and Gansey sitting at the back of the restaurant. He walked directly to them. The postures of the other boys all changed drastically.

Parrish faked disinterest. However, his eyes never left Kavinsky.

Gansey stood –always the king among his people.

Ronan, however, was the one who had transformed the most. _Nice_.

His shoulders were knotted with visible tension. Something about his eyes was ferocious and alive.

_He really was a piece of art_.

“I saw your POS out front,” Kavinsky told Gansey. He knew this would be a direct blow –Gansey loved his car. “And I remembered I had something for Lynch.” Laughing, he dropped a dry, tangled pile in front of Ronan.

He hadn’t put much effort in wrapping it. However, he took a few second to ponder if he should have –sure the curiosity of what might be inside he saw reflected in Ronan’s eyes was worth the trouble.

He should have… Well, he had delivered his gift. There was no turning back now.

Ronan eyed the gift, one eyebrow raised in glorious disdain.

Trying hard to hide his curiosity, he pulled one of the strands to reveal that it was a collection of wristbands identical to the ones he always wore.

Kavinsky was proud –he had got everything right, even the colors and sizes.

“How sweet, man.” Ronan lifted one. “It goes with everything.”

“Like your mom,” Kavinsky agreed with good humor. He wasn’t good with small talk, but it didn’t matter; he knew Ronan wasn’t actually touched by his gift.

“What am I supposed to do with them?”

“Hell if I know. I just thought of you. Regift them, for all I care. White rabbit shit.”

“Elephant,” murmured Gansey.

“Don’t bring politics into this, Dick,” Kavinsky replied. He slapped a palm on Ronan’s shaved head and rubbed it. Delighted to see Ronan’s expression, as if he were ready to bite him.

But not only Ronan, also Adam, who now was properly looking at him. His eyes were dark, murderous.

He supposed Gansey would look the same if he hadn’t been taught how to hide his emotions behind a politician’s smile.

“Well, I’m out. You know, things to do. Enjoy your book club, ladies.”

He didn’t even look at the shrimp of a waitress as he left.

_Oh, he'd pick me up at eight_

_And not a minute late_

_Cause I don’t like to wait, no_

Kavinsky saw the BMW slowly approaching through the intersection. As soon as they were at the same level, Ronan stopped his car. A _real_ car, not Gansey’s whatever-the-hell he insisted on driving despite all his money. 

Above them, the traffic light turned green, but the street behind them was empty and neither car moved.

Kavinsky, a true gentleman, rolled down his window, making it easier for Ronan to make up his mind and follow suit.

“Fag,” Kavinsky said, stepping on his gas pedal. The Mitsubishi wailed and shuddered a bit; it was a glorious piece of work.

“Russian,” Ronan replied. He stepped on his gas pedal, too. It wasn’t a great comeback, but Kavinsky smiled pleased.

“Hey now, let’s not make this ugly.”

Ronan tossed some sunglasses through his open window onto Kavinsky’s passenger seat.

_Now what was this?_

The light turned yellow, and then red.

Kavinsky picked up the glasses and studied them. He knocked his own sunglasses halfway down his nose and studied them some more.

Ronan’s sunglasses weren’t exactly perfect –the tint was a bit darker –, but they closely resembled his own pair.

Kavinsky, master forger, appreciated the effort.

Slowly, _very slowly_ , Kavinsky slid his gaze over to Ronan. A satisfied look on his face.

_So Lynch had recognized the game. This was gonna be fun._

“Well done, Lynch. Where’d you find them?” Ronan only smiled thinly.

“That’s how it’s gonna be, eh? Hard to get?” the idea excited Kavinsky.

The opposing light turned yellow.

“Yes,” was Ronan’s short reply.

The traffic light above them turned green. Without any particular prelude, both cars exploded off the mark.

Kavinsky knew Ronan was a far better driver than he was, so he was already expecting to lose.

_But just this time._

What he lacked in driving skills, he made up for in dreaming. He was a thief of his own dreams, he could be unstoppable if he so much as wished.

Just as Ronan tore around a corner, leaving him behind, Kavinsky honked his horn twice and made a rude gesture.

He knew his fate beforehand, but he wasn’t going to waste a perfect opportunity to insult Ronan.

Then Ronan was out of sight. Kavinsky allowed himself the slightest of smiles.

This was what it felt like to be on fire. _To be alive._

_Kind and ain’t afraid to cry_

_Or treat his momma right_

_That’s right, That’s what I like_

Ronan was always with Gansey. This was something Kavinsky knew –Everyone at Aglionby knew it.

Not even Parrish, who was an ever-present addition to their party, was with them as much. A side effect of having to work day and night, he supposed.

Even if he tried to catch Ronan’s attention, his eyes were always glued to Gansey. Ready to defend the boy’s honor at the slightest sign of trouble.

What did it take to win the boy? Gansey didn’t even try, but with a single word, he could make Ronan do almost anything. It was annoying.

_Dick_ was Ronan’s self-control. A control he did not need; if Ronan were with Kavinsky, he wouldn’t stop him.

He would let Ronan be a hurricane, destroying everything in his pace.

There was this closeness and love in everything Ronan and Gansey did together that was infuriating. It was driving him mad.

Prokopenko and he passed next to them, earning a low grunting from Ronan.

“Hey, dad, you might want to keep your temper. Mom is here.” He was talking about Gansey, obviously.

“Fuck you,” was Ronan’s reply.

“Sorry, but I’m not into adultery.”

“I dare you to say one more word –” but, before he could move, Gansey’s hand was already stopping him.

“Better luck next time, princess.” Kavinsky was already walking away, Prokopenko close behind.

_I need a man who don't get jealous ‘less I want him to_

_A gentleman to take care of me in the bedroom_

_Romantic love but keep it rough_

_Am I asking too much?_

Ordinarily, the abandoned fairground was pitch-black at night, but tonight, the floodlights splashed sterile white light over the grass, illuminating the restless forms of more than a dozen cars.

Two cars loomed out of the darkness, one red and one white, heading right toward each other. Neither vehicle flinched from the impending collision. Delighted screams filled the space between engine noises.

Kavinsky had already been playing: the right side of the car was shockingly mutilated and crumpled.

He stood near his car, bottle in hand, shirtless, the floodlights illuminating his torso.

On the other side of this game, a tired Volvo was lit from within. It looked like a hellish Christmas tree. There was something sexy about it, and Kavinsky smiled, taking its image in.

It was then that a BMW he knew by heart pulled up to the Mitsubishi, nose to nose. When he saw Ronan emerging from the car, he threw the bottle. It splintered, shivering glass and liquid everywhere.

Seconds later, Gansey slid himself out of the BMW.

 _So Ronan was here for business and not to enjoy one of his infamous parties._ Still, this was going to be interesting.

“Hey, ladies. This is a substance party. Nobody’s in unless you brought a substance.”

By way of reply, Ronan clasped one hand round Kavinsky’s throat and the other around his shoulder, and hurdled him tidily over the hood of the Mitsubishi. For punctuation, he rejoined him on the opposite side and slammed his fist into Kavinsky’s nose.

“Here’s your substance.”

Kavinsky wasn’t necessarily turned on, but there was something undoubtedly sexy about being manhandled like that. Except for the bleeding nose. And the pain that followed.

“Hey, man, you don’t have to be so fucking antisocial,” he grunted. Ronan looked just about ready to rip him apart –but that was not unusual –, however, Gansey’s eyes were deep and murderous in that moment, illuminated by the fire. He looked wild and younger _._

_Almost_ handsome.

“I don’t want to keep you from your revels,” Gansey said, cold and glorious, “so I’m just going to say this: Stay out of my place.”

Kavinsky looked at him challenging, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Babe, get me a smoke.” The last part was directed to a girl who lolled in the passenger seat of the crunched Mitsubishi.

Ronan flicked out one of the fake IDs.

Kavinsky smiled broadly at his own work. It was an excellent forgery, except for Ronan’s birthday. Were birthdays that important anyways?

“You mad because I didn’t leave you a mint, too?”

“No, I’m angry because you trashed my apartment,” Gansey said. “You should be glad I’m here and not at the police station.”

Kavinsky was at a loss; he had expected Gansey to say almost anything, but that was not it. “Whoa, whoa. I can’t tell which of us is high. Whoa. I didn’t trash your place.”

“Please don’t insult my intelligence,” Gansey replied, and there was just a hint of a glacial laugh in his voice. Kavinsky knew that laugh had nothing to do with real humor. 

Their conversation was interrupted by the familiar, destructive sound of cars colliding.

Kavinsky caught the line of Ronan’s attention. “Ah,” he said, “You want in on this, don’t you? Well, you just have to ask nicely.”

“Where are these guys from?” Gansey squinted. “Is that Morris? I thought he was in New Haven.”

Kavinsky shrugged. “It’s a substance party.”

Ronan growled, “They don’t have substances in New Haven?”

“Not like these. It’s Wonderland! Some make you big, some make you small . . .” Ronan looked at him like if he were stupid. Which he was not, thank you very much.

“Depends on which side of the mushroom you use.”

“True point,” Kavinsky agreed. “So, what are you going to do about your rat problem?”

“Beg pardon?” Gansey’s public face had returned in the intermission.

This made Kavinsky laugh uproariously, “If I didn’t trash your place, something else is infesting it.”

Gansey’s eyes flickered over to Ronan.

_They say, expectations are too high_

_And you’ll never find a guy like that_

_It’s driving you mad, honey_

Gansey was moving toward the BMW. If Gansey was going, then Ronan was going.

He didn’t want Ronan to leave, but there was nothing he could do to make him stay.

However, Ronan paused long enough to flick another fake ID at Kavinsky’s bare chest.

“Stay out of our place.”

_Our_ place. The domesticity of the statement made Kavinsky’s insides twist.

He tried to give Ronan his best smile, but it came out crooked. “I only come where they invite me, man.”

“Lynch,” Gansey said. “We’re gone.”

“That’s right,” Kavinsky called after Ronan, jealousy almost unbearable. “Call your dog!”

He said it like either Ronan or Gansey should be offended by it, but deep down he knew they wouldn’t be.

_They say that its just a waste of time_

_Get your head out of the sky_

_But why?_

Before they were gone and out of sight, Kavinsky sent a quick message to Ronan. He knew he wouldn’t get a reply, but he was sure Ronan would read it.

_See you on the streets._

_Oh I, wish I could synthesize_

_A picture perfect guy_

_Oh I, oh I_

Seventeen minutes after he was due, Kavinsky arrived. The Mitsubishi pulled up alongside the Camaro. Kavinsky was wearing the sunglasses Ronan gave him. He thought it would be _appropriate_.

He rolled down his window.

“Lynch, you bastard,” he said, by way of greeting. Ronan didn’t even flinch.

Kavinsky appraised the car.

“I’m impressed.” And he really was –the sight was certainly uncommon.

Where was Gansey and why was he allowing Ronan to endanger his car?

Was Ronan going through a rebellious phase?

_Good._

_Six feet tall and super strong_

_We’d always get along_

_Alright, alright_

Kavinsky turned around as soon as he saw Ronan losing control. He had to hurry up or it would be too late.

The night horror’s head jerked up as the Mitsubishi slid by the Camaro. The creature clambered down the windshield. Crouching on the hood, it hissed at Kavinsky.

Kavinsky slid down his window, his expression impossible to determine behind his white sunglasses. He leaned to get something from beneath his seat, and then he pointed it at the night horror. It was a small, imaginary-looking gun, shiny as chrome.

He fired the gun. He shot once, and then he shot again. The creature didn’t move after that, but Kavinsky fired four more times.

Ronan slowly sat up; he seemed a bit lot. Kavinsky still leaned out his window, chrome gun hanging casually from his hand.

“Try to keep up, Lynch,” he said.

_Oh, he'd pick me up at eight_

_And not a minute late_

_Cause I don’t like to wait, no_

Ronan scraped a hand over the back of his head. He looked so heartbroken –on the verge of crying.

“He’s going to kill me. Goddamn it. He’s going to kill me.”

God, he was so stupid. How could someone so _hot_ be so stupid?

“No, that was going to kill you, man. Gansey’ll forgive you, man. He doesn’t want to sleep alone.”

All at once, Ronan seized the straps of Kavinsky’s tank top and shoved him. _The kinky bastard._

“Enough, already! This isn’t your fucking Mitsu. I can’t go out and buy another one tomorrow morning,” Ronan spat.

Kavinsky unhooked Ronan’s fingers.

“Look, Lynch,” Kavinsky said. “It’s simple. Wrap your tiny Celtic brain around this concept. What did your mom do when your goldfish died?”

“I told you. It’s not your rice rocket. I can get him another, but it won’t be the same. He doesn’t want another one. He wants this one.”

Good grief. His stupidity was _almost_ endearing. 

“I’m going to be fucking patient with you, because you’ve had a head injury. And clearly you’re not listening to the words I say.”

Ronan threw a hand toward the car, “This is not a goldfish.”

“You people are such drama queens. I’m going to pop the trunk and you’re going to scrape that thing into it. And then we’re going to take a field trip to concept-land.”

Ronan stared at him mistrustfully.

“Look, you’re having a life-changing experience here. Get in the car before I need to get high again.”

Ronan got in the car.

This was the dream: sitting in his Mitsubishi next to Lynch, the odor of the boy –sweaty and dangerous –intoxicating.

They didn’t speak.

Kavinsky drove out of Henrietta, past Deering, into nowhere. Ronan watched Kavinsky change gears as he snaked along the back roads.

“My eyes are up here, sweetheart,” Kavinsky said. With a dismissive noise, Ronan lay his head back in the seat and looked out into the night. But he didn’t comment on the pet name.

_Kind and ain’t afraid to cry_

_Or treat his momma right_

_That’s right, That’s what I like_

Ronan’s phone buzzed. An incoming call from no other than Richard Campbell Gansey III.

“Dick,” Kavinsky said, answering “Gansey.” There was a sudden silence.

Kavinsky feared Gansey would hang up, so he spoke again. “Dick-Three,” Kavinsky said. “You there?”

“Joseph.”

“Funny I should hear from you. Saw your car running around last night. It’s got half a face now. Poor bastard.”

Gansey didn’t answer. Why was he so inarticulate today of all days?

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Kavinsky said. “Come again? I know, I know — that’s what Lynch says.” 

That had been fucking hilarious, but he doubted Gansey would laugh at the remark. Well, his loss.

“All right, now,” Gansey said. “This was great. You giving this phone back to Ronan at any point?”

“He’s going to have to try harder,” Kavinsky said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“That’s what Lynch says, too.” Kavinsky’s smile was crooked.

He asked, “Do you ever think your humor veers too much on the side of prurient?”

“Man, don’t SAT at me. Here’s what’s up. The Ronan you know is no more. He’s having a coming of age moment. A — a — bildungsroman. Goddamn me! SAT that, Dick-dick-dick.”

“Kavinsky,” Gansey said evenly. “Where’s Ronan?”

“Right here. WAKE UP, FUCKWEASEL, IT’S YOUR GIRLFRIEND!” Kavinsky said. “Sorry. He’s totally pissed. Can I take a message?” He knew he hadn’t touched any drug since arriving with Ronan, but he felt as high as the fucking stars. A mixture of excitement and triumph. Adrenaline and dopamine.

“Dickie. You still there?”

“I’m here. What do you want?”

Kavinsky said, “Same thing I always want. To be entertained.”

The phone went dead.

_I’ve been looking high and low_

_For a man who’s just right_

_And treats me mighty fine_

And they dreamt.

They dreamt and dreamt, and the stars wheeled overhead and away and the moon hid in the trees and the sun moved around the car.

The car filled with impossible gadgets and stinging plants, singing stones and lacy bras. As the noon boiled down, they climbed out and stripped their sweaty shirts and dreamt in the heat instead. Things too big to be contained in a car.

The light stretched long and thin, nearly to breaking, and then there was night with its tantalizing reflections off one hundred white cars.

How long has it been? Had it been days or was it the same night as before?

Kavinsky couldn’t tell. He was in a mind-numbing dream, high in his emotions. It could’ve been a year, for all he knew.

Ronan was finally _his_.

Then it was a morning. He didn’t know if they’d already done a morning, or if this was a brand-new one. The grass was wet and the Mitsubishis’ hoods were beaded sweatily, but it was hard to tell if it had rained or if it was merely dew.

Ronan sat against the rear fender of one of the Mitsubishis and wolfed some Twizzlers. Meanwhile, Kavinsky was inspecting Ronan with hungry eyes.

But he couldn’t fool himself.

Ronan wasn’t really his.

_He wasn’t._

No matter what Kavinsky did.

This was just a cruel fantasy.

This was just playing pretend.

Using him.

And he knew –he was certain –as soon as Ronan woke up. Sitting in a perfectly forgery of a shitty Camaro.

Kavinsky grinned despite himself.

“I’m going.” Ronan said. Kavinsky felt the fantasy shatter.

His face was perfectly blank, and then he said, “You’re shitting me.”

“I’ll send flowers.” Ronan revved the engine.

_No, no, no, no._

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Kavinsky could give Ronan the world.

Together they could create and destroy and recreate.

They had potential.

_They were powerful._

“Running back to your master?”

“This was fun,” Ronan said. “Time for big boy games now, though.”

“You’re a player in his life, Lynch.” Kavinsky felt desperation creep through his body, holding him closer with each breath he took. “You don’t fucking need him,” Kavinsky said.

Kavinsky threw up a hand like he was going to hit something, but there was nothing but air. “You are shitting me.”

“I never lie,” Ronan said. He frowned disbelievingly. “Wait. You thought — it was never gonna be you and me. Is that what you thought?”

“There’s only with me or against me.” He really thought, for a moment, that he had won Ronan over. That their time dreaming had meant something more.

That Ronan had finally seen the difference between Kavinsky and Gansey.

Ronan was like him –they were to shadows, thieves of dreams.

But that had been a mistake. A foolish thought he entertained. A dream he couldn’t make true.

It had always been Ronan against Kavinsky.

There was never any possibility of _with_.

“It was never going to be you and me, K.” Ronan repeated.

“I will burn you down,” Kavinsky said.

“You wish.”

Kavinsky made a gun of his thumb and finger and put it to Ronan’s temple.

“Bang,” he said softly, withdrawing the fake gun. “See you on the streets.”

_So come on, baby_

Well, things had changed.

He would no longer give Ronan the chance to choose him; Kavinsky would take the choice for him.

He sent a quick text from Matthew’s phone. The easiest way to gain Ronan’s attention, honestly.

The only person who was on top of Gansey in Ronan’s inner hierarchy was his younger brother.

Matthew had the looks, honestly, but he lacked the mental sharpness. And the ambition.

He then took his own phone and sent Ronan the same message: _What’s up mofo._

A moment later, Kavinsky texted again: _Bring something fun to fourth of july or we’ll see which pill works the best on your brother._

Was he actually planning to waste some pills on Matthew? Or was he just baiting Ronan?

Even Kavinsky didn’t know –probably the latter, though. 

His phone started buzzing with and incoming call. Kavinsky picked up at once. “Lynch, fancy hearing from you.”

Ronan demanded, “Where is he?”

“You know, I asked nice the first few times. Are you coming to Fourth? Are you coming? Are you coming? Here, have a motherfucking car. Are you coming? You made it ugly. Bring something impressive tonight.”

“I’m not doing this,” Ronan said.

“Oh,” Kavinsky said, grinning. “I think you are. Or I’ll keep trying different things on him. He can be my finale tonight. Boom! You want to see something explode. . . .”

“You won’t get away with this.”

“I got away with dear old dad,” Kavinsky observed. “And Prokopenko. And no offense to your brother, but they were a lot more complicated.”

_Show me what you got_

“This was the wrong play. I will destroy you.”

“Don’t let me down, Lynch.”

_Oh I, wish I could synthesize_

_A picture perfect guy_

_Oh I, oh I_

Kavinsky stood next to the open door of his car. Ronan, followed by Gansey and Blue, walked up to him.

“Oh, hey,” Kavinsky sneered. His eyes had found the other two. “It’s Daddy. Dick, that’s a strangely hetero partner you have there tonight. Lynch having performance issues?”

Ronan grabbed Kavinsky’s throat, “Where is he,” Ronan snarled. It was barely words.

“Seriously, Dick, how can you not find him unbelievable hot?” he asked Gansey, disregarding Ronan’s attempt to seem intimidating. It wasn’t as if his crush was a secret anymore.

Ronan growled. Kavinsky sighed –yeah, they were talking about Matthew, weren’t they?

He gestured toward the car behind him, and then toward one of the others, and then another, “In that car. Or that one. Or that one. Or that one. You know these things. They all look alike.”

He kneed Ronan in the stomach. With a gasp, Ronan dropped him.

“Here’s the thing, Lynch,” Kavinsky said. “When I said with me or against me, I didn’t really think you’d pick _against_ me.”

_Six feet tall and super strong_

_We’d always get along_

_Alright, alright_

Kavinsky was already there when Ronan got to the forest. But unlike Ronan, he was being attacked by the fucking trees. Branches as sharp as claws scratched his face.

He was a usurper.

Fucking unbelievable.

Even in his dream, he didn’t belong.

_Well, c’est his fucking vie._

“Guess our secret place is the same,” Kavinsky said. He grinned.

Ronan replied, “Not such a thief tonight.”

“Some nights,” Kavinsky said, all teeth, “you just take it. Consent is overrated.”

The branches shook over them both. Thunder grumbled and smashed, close and real, real, real.

“You don’t have to do this,” Ronan said. Kavinsky wanted to laugh –that was just plain ridiculous. Of course he had do it.

He covered his face with both his hands, but didn’t back down.

“There isn’t anything else, man.” Not for Kavinsky, at least. He’d raise hell and bring the end of the fucking world. He would make sure of it.

“There’s reality.”

Kavinsky laughed the word. “Reality! Reality’s what other people dream for you.”

“Reality’s where other people are,” Ronan replied. He stretched out his arms. “What’s here, K? Nothing! No one!”

“Just us!” He regretted the word as soon as they left his mouth. He was weak, pathetic. But he was also desperate.

He wanted Ronan to know how much he needed him –how much _they_ needed each other.

“That’s not enough,” Ronan replied soft. It was barely a whisper.

And still, it wrecked Kavinsky.

“Don’t say Dick Gansey, man. Do not say it. He is never going to be with you. And don’t tell me you don’t swing that way, man. I’m in your head.”

“That’s not what Gansey is to me,” Ronan said. He was telling the truth, Kavinsky could tell. But then –who?

Well, that didn’t mean jack shit.

“You didn’t say you don’t swing that way.”

Ronan was silent. Thunder growled under his feet. “No, I didn’t.”

“That makes it worse, man. You really are just his lap dog.” He wanted to hit the boy. Spit at him. Slap him.

He –he wanted to burn something. He _needed_ it.

His insides were clenching. His surroundings were twisting.

Ronan said, “Life isn’t just sex and drugs and cars.” Kavinsky stood up. Life wasn’t just sex and drugs and cars?

Maybe life wasn’t, but Kavinsky sure as hell was.

He would never really need money. Family and friends were overrated. School was a joke.

Everything was dull.

What gave sense to his life was just that: sex, drugs and cars. He thought Ronan –given his experiences –would understand.

But he didn’t.

Ronan was… He was wrong. He was biased since friends and family were actually important to him.

But Kavinsky was different –superior.

He said, “Mine is.” He looked to the woods. Holding out his hand, he snapped his fingers, and the forest screamed.

“You don’t have to do this,” Ronan said again.

But his beast’s arrival silenced the boy.

It was a dragon and a bonfire and an inferno and teeth. As it descended, it opened its maw wide and screamed at Ronan.

He could feel how it hated him. How it hated Ronan, too.

How it hated the world.

It was so hungry. _Oh, so hungry…_

_Oh, he'd pick me up at eight_

_And not a minute late_

_Cause I don’t like to wait, no_

Kavinsky’s fire dragon broke off from the night horror. It tucked its gaseous forearms and dove.

With a hissing blast of noise, it collided with one of the flood lamps. The impact had no effect on the dragon, but the lamp capsized.

Shocked screams punctuated the air; the lamp tumbled like a tree.

Kavinsky’s face was alight. He’d leapt to his feet as the fire dragon hurled itself at another one of the lamps.

Flames burst and dissipated. The bulb exploded.

Ronan’s night horror plummeted from the sky, snatching at the fire dragon. For a moment, the two hit the ground, rolling across the dirt, and then they were alight again.

Kavinsky was not afraid. He felt alive –more alive than he had felt before.

He looked at Ronan. Saw the fear in his eyes.

Why was he afraid? This was catharsis, purgation. Everything was out there, and they both would burn with it.

The fire dragon screamed, the same horrible scream as before. It sped toward where Kavinsky and Ronan stood by the car.

“Stop it,” Ronan said.

Kavinsky’s eyes were still on it. “No stopping it now, Lynch.”

What was the point of stopping?

His dragon was going to eat the world raw.

_Kind and ain’t afraid to cry_

_Or treat his momma right_

_That’s right, That’s what I like_

Ronan dove for his brother. He dragged him away from the car.

Kavinsky felt sorry for Ronan.

How could someone with so much potential be so naïve?

There was _nothing_ left to save.

Their creatures were gods among mortals.

They all were bound to die. 

And then no one would forget.

His party was going to be immortalized.

_It was poetic, really._

“Get down!” Ronan shouted, but Kavinsky didn’t look away from the two creatures.

There had been a time when he would have listened to Ronan’s words. He would have got down.

But not anymore.

He said, “The world’s a nightmare.”

Kavinsky felt hollow. As he looked around, taking his surroundings in, he finally understood.

He was damaged.

That was the difference between Ronan and him.

Ronan, despite having lost everything and hating everyone, was still full of hope. Dreams. _Love_.

Kavinsky was a blank page, looking for anything that would spark a light inside him. But there was no such thing.

He hated the world. He hated his family. His abilities. _Himself._

“ _K_ , snap out of it!” Ronan pleaded. He sounded desperate. “Come on!”

Dust swirled up from the dragon’s wings.

Furious, Ronan shouted, “Come down, you bastard!”

Kavinsky didn’t answer.

This was his _grand finale_ , and he would not let Ronan ruin it.

Ronan closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Matthew.

As the dragon approached, they ducked their heads.

A second later, the fire dragon exploded into Kavinsky. It went straight through him, around him.

Kavinsky fell.

Not as if he was struck, though. He slumped as if he were asleep, dreaming and ready to steal something from the forest.

He crumpled to his knees and then slumped gracelessly off the car.


End file.
